The Last Post and Chorus
by 23-17-46-11
Summary: 'John laughing when I told him about the client who never existed. "Perhaps she was a ghost." he laughed. John going out on the date that would result in him coming home in a foul mood. John and his jumpers. John's pleading tone as he watched me fall.' {Set before S3. I suggest you listen to Green Fields of France by Dropkick Murphys whilst reading this.}


**Hello! I'm back with this little piece for you and for the record, I really am sorry. Although I am actually quite proud of this and on the other hand I kinda hate myself.**

**Anyway, you know the drill: I own nothing. **

**Please enjoy.**

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**The Last Post and Chorus**

That was all that floated around Sherlock's skull. Deductions gone and in their place, despair. This was a pain Sherlock had sworn never to feel again but as it turns out, something else had other plans. He reached out his hand and let hot tears trail his cheek, no one was there to reach back. The only man Sherlock had ever wanted to reach out for was gone. Bringing his hand back down to his side he absentmindedly realised that he was stood at the very same tree as before. Before it all went wrong, when everything was relatively alright.

He had been stood there for over an hour already and it wasn't even time yet. Just as he had done last time, the only other time pain had him in it's cruel clutches. This time was different and yet, essentially the same. Before the sadness threatening to consume him was caused by the death of… That was not important right now. Memories raced past his eyes, leaving burning tears unshed as they went.

_John laughing when I told him about the client who never existed. "Perhaps she was a ghost." he laughed._

_John going out on the date that would result in him coming home in a foul mood._

_John and his jumpers._

_John's pleading tone as he watched me fall._

Stop it! Sentiment was how you came to be here in the first place. If you had just kept ignoring those feelings this wouldn't be how you feel now!

People had begun to arrive, it was a sunny day and there was a cool breeze. Chairs sat out on the grass and people began to sit. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Anderson, Mike and even Mycroft along with others that Sherlock didn't know. Finally Mr and Mrs. Watson sat down and the service began. John had not been Christian but it appeared his Mother and Father were. The service was starting, the Priest was speaking; welcoming everyone and doing what usually was expected of him. The coffin was brought to the graveside.

"I believe that some people have speeches to make?" The priest asked

Molly stood first. "I knew John Watson to be a strong man and a patient person. He was nothing short of an excellent individual and a magnificent friend. In these past months I had seen him put up with more than I would wish on anyone. When we lost Sherlock it was hard for us all, we lost a friend, a colleague or a brother but John; he lost his flat-mate, his best friend. To John, Sherlock was everything so it was understandable that he took it hardest. I never expected this to happen though. Not in a million years. John, oh John…" Suddenly Molly's carefully sculpted facade cracked and she sobbed out the last part of her speech. "If only you had just spoken to us. We could have helped."

She returned to her seat and cried into Lestrade's shoulder.

Next Mrs. Hudson got up. Her face was already streaked with tears and her voice cracked. "I can't say much about John that you all don't already know I am sure. I just wanted to tell you about one time when he and Sherlock had gotten back from a case that took them up to the Highlands of Scotland. I had tidied a little for them coming home. Dusted and straightened the apartment up a bit. I even stocked up their fridge. Well, when they got back Sherlock went absolutely crazy. He stormed out the house shouting about how it was an invasion of his privacy that I should come up to the apartment and clean it. John shook his head and mouthed an apology before grabbing both his and Sherlock's coat. It was cold out and Sherlock only had one of his shirts on to keep him warm. A good few hours later he and Sherlock returned. John marched Sherlock into my apartment and had him apologise. Then when he had he sent him upstairs. I guess what I am trying to say is that the man had the patience of a saint and that is something this world is fast losing. Without John, it's as if a light has gone out in the world. The flat just isn't the same without those two. Life is just too quiet now."

By this point Sherlock was sat on the grass behind the tree with his knees drawn up to his chin and the tears were falling again. He briefly heard the Priest speak but he was too lost in his own feelings to care what the man had to say. Then a familiar voice began to speak.

"I can not proclaim to know John Watson in the intimate ways that you have all so nicely put forward today. I can however say that John Watson was without a shadow of a doubt the best thing that could have ever happened to my brother. In some ways too, Sherlock was the best possible thing that could have happened to John. While I have always maintained that caring is not an advantage, in the case of John, I would be lying if I said that I wasn't affected by the outcome of John's greif. My brother too would be affected by the way John's story was ended. I know not what else I can say. John, I bid you goodbye and a safe journey to wherever you may be headed."

Mycroft had always had a way with words, it was no wonder he was such a spectacular politician.

Then as Mycroft sat down, the sound of marching came to Sherlock's ears. It was a regiment of soldiers lead by Major Sholto, they came to a stop just behind John's gravestone. Major Sholto then began to speak.

"They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them."

His voice was clear and composed but just beneath it a brokenness was evident. Sherlock had mouthed every word of the stanza along with the Major.

The regiment behind Sholto stood to attention and saluted, holding it there as the bugle struck up playing the Last Post. Then all the guests stood and did the same. Sherlock, from behind his tree, joined in the salute. If anyone had seen Sherlock at this moment, they would not recognise him as Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. What they would in fact see was the empty shell of a well and truly broken man, his heart heavy and torn in two. Sherlock's hand shook as he held the salute and it took all that was left of his strength not to sob because he knew it would come out too loud and he would be discovered. Then everyone would know that John died for nothing, Sherlock would not see John's parents go through that pain. Even he could not be so entirely heartless.

The bugle finished his piece and everyone sat back down, the regiment lowered their arms back down to their sides and stood once again to attention.

Sherlock had not noticed the Pipers at the back come to the front, his eyes were fixed on the coffin as it was laid into the ground, as it went down the pipers struck up and played 'The Flowers of the Forrest.' When this was done, the regiment marched to the back of the ceremony and occupied the seats left unfilled. From here onwards the funeral continued as a normal Christian funeral would.

At the end, when all was done everyone got up from their seats and departed, shaking hands with and sharing condolences with both Mr and Mrs Watson.

It was sometime before everyone was gone and the chairs were cleared away, only then did Sherlock venture towards the grave. it had not yet been filled and from the breast of his coat he produced a red rose and dropped it on the coffin.

"You see John, not a hero at all. Our places are reversed. You are where I am believed to be and I am where you should be. I am so sorry John, sorry that I could not tell you the truth but it was honestly for your own safety. I never imagined this would be the outcome of it all. I was alone, I believed I needed no one but you changed that. You said that you owe me so much but I think I owe you more than you owe me. My last miracle, I am not dead. London means nothing to me now. I see no need to go come once I am done with my business. I have no reason to return to Baker Street." Sherlock's voice cracked and tears fell anew, "John, I should have said it but I never knew how to put it into the right words, I suppose I can just come right out with it now though. John Watson, you were my everything and I sacrificed everything to keep you safe. I love you, I have done for so long and I am sorry. Truly."

Before Sherlock's own eyes John stood in front of him, Sherlock knew it was just his imagination but he could not wish it away. John stood and watched him, smiling. Too soon he began to fade and as he disappeared he mouthed 'I love you too, Sherlock Holmes.' Then he was gone and Sherlock found himself again, reaching out for the man who could never reach back.

Not anymore.

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**Please don't kill me...**

**Reviews are love, drop me your thoughts on my angst?**

**Till next time,**

**Laura x**


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